


Angel Blood

by kihadu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Dean is a vampire, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kihadu/pseuds/kihadu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a vampire. Castiel offers his blood. Established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Super massive warnings for blood. Also sex. Sex and blood.

They’ve had the conversations. The “Sam’s gone and fucked up”, the “shit shit _shit_ ”, the “Cas what do I do, what do I _do_ ”.

Now, they’re just sitting. It’s completely dark, because Dean doesn’t like light anymore. He’s used to dingy hotels and dark nights, but he’s not a fan of complete blackness, not now and not ever. He hates that he flinches at the slightest bit of light.

He can hear the blood in Castiel’s neck. He clenches his fist, digs his nails into his palm. He knows he needs to feed, but he knows that if he’s going to rip out anyone’s neck it should be Sam’s, for doing this to him. Soulless bastard probably wouldn’t care, anyway. He’s off doing God knows what, and God clearly doesn’t give a shit.

Castiel’s blood smells so good.

They’re on the Impala and the car metal is cold and smells sharp. They’re in a barn, all mouldy hay and old wood. Dean knows there’s the small corpse of a mouse rotting somewhere nearby, but he only has time to focus on Castiel’s blood.

He’s sat there so long just thinking about the rushing pulse that when the angel turns to him, blue eyes still visible in the perfect blackness, he’s startled and tries to move. His limbs are stiff. He just wants to bite him.

“You need to feed,” says Castiel, reading the hunger in Dean’s eyes. “Angel blood won’t harm you.” He begins to unlace his tie.

Dean is lost in the sudden increase of his heart rate, and is slow to stop him.

“Cas, no!” He can feel his gums peeling aside to let down the sharp teeth, and he wishes they would not. He digs his nails into his palm to stop himself from surging forward and consuming Castiel. “No, we’ll do something else. You can zap over to a hospital, borrow from their blood bank.”

“They need that blood,” says Castiel, drawing his eyebrows together in admonition. “This is best. You hurt no one. I am offering. You won’t kill me,” he scoffs.

“It’s too,” he pauses. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t seem right. “I can’t.”

“Dean,” says Castiel, his eyes serious. He’s unbuttoning his shirt, his trenchcoat already folded and beside him on the Impala, his tie neatly on top of it. “You need to. I want you to.”

He puts his hand gently on the side of Dean’s face, his eyes tender. He is almost reverent in his touch, understanding how much this hurts Dean.

“Please,” says Castiel. He wants Dean to be well.

Dean wants to protest that maybe it would be better if he died, but Castiel looks at him with so much love in his face that he cannot say no.

He licks his lips. He’s nervous. The woman he fed from was already ripped open. He used another’s teethmarks to suck the life from her. He isn’t sure that he can wreck Castiel’s neck.

The blood smells sweet and rusted.

“This, uh. It’ll probably hurt,” he warns, and Castiel gives him the look of a million year old soldier of Heaven, but one hand is fisted on his thigh, muscles of his bare arm taut and tense.

Dean leans forward. His lips have pulled back and his new teeth feel cold in the air. In that moment he despises himself, because he’s forgotten that Castiel is real. He doesn’t care that this is a gift. He just leans forward, and the moment his teeth brush the tight skin he is lost. The skin slides apart and then he pulls and rips and grins against the sudden rush of blood.

Dean doesn’t hear Castiel’s soft gasp of pain, doesn’t feel his hands shifting, no longer supporting him but clinging, tight. Dean runs his tongue over the soft edge of skin and then he drinks. He sucks and gasps through his nose for breath, blood smooth and thick in his mouth.

Castiel’s scent overwhelms him, buries itself deep in his nose and his mouth. He gulps it down, gulps the blood, can feel Castiel’s grip on his thigh and his shoulder slackening but he can’t manage to care. He needs, a desire that burns all the way from his tongue to his groin.

Despite the complete blackness he can see the shape of Castiel’s shoulders and back. They’re shaking, slightly, and there is a rivulet of blood tracing down. Dean wants to lick it, trace the line of it up up to Castiel’s neck again. He wants, desperately, to consume Castiel.

He breaks away, teeth wet, and he swallows them clean. Castiel looks at him, his eyes slightly unfocused. There is blood smeared across his throat, dribbling down his chest. Without thinking Dean leans down to kiss the trails, lips sucking clean a nipple and then brushing over ribs. There is blood lower down, caught in Castiel’s belly button and the trail of hair running down beneath his pants. Before it reaches the material Dean drops his head, bending over and pressing his face to the blood. He breathes in, deep and long.

Castiel whines. It could be a sound made merely from the effort of healing the wound on his neck, but Dean takes it as an invitation. He mouths the material at Castiel’s groin, lifting a hand to press it into the soft flesh of his side. He looks up. There is still blood there, on the unblemished skin of his neck, and although Dean wants, he is still a vampire, now a vampire, and he wants blood and sex. He wants them in that order.

He leans up, pushing himself off Castiel’s thigh and sucks at the blood caught in the line of his collarbones. He can feel the sharp pulse beneath his fingers on Castiel’s thigh.

Castiel’s hand catches in his hair, dragging his face up, and shoves their lips together. Castiel’s blood is thinned in Dean's mouth, Dean’s teeth still sharp, but the angel tries to push through with his tongue. He gives a small gasp when his tongue catches on a razor sharp tooth but then Dean surges forward to suck on the tiny cut, filling his mouth with blood and in his desperate need to be close to him he throws a leg over Castiel’s lap. The minute his hard cock feels contact the angel gives a startled noise and drags him closer. Dean scarcely notices. Scarcely cares.

Dean kisses him again, just lips, and then nuzzles his way down to Castiel’s throat. Without warning he bites the skin again, sucks the blood that wells there immediately and again rips open the vein beneath. He scarcely feels Castiel’s hands pull up his shirt, the nails digging hard into his hips, sliding down into his pants to pull their hips together.

With one hand he absently fumbles to rearrange himself, focusing only on becoming more comfortable.

The blood is hot. Castiel is unable to breathe, unable to speak. Dean is on top of him, crawling over him and pressing him into the car. He knows, if he were human, he would care a little more. He’d care a little more about the fingers fumbling with his belt, with the button on his jeans, but he’s lost to the ecstasy of drinking.

Castiel’s hands are tight on Dean’s hips, holding so hard they’ll blossom into finger-shaped bruises. He’s gasping, head thrown back and head twisted so Dean can drink from his throat, his ear pressed into the black metal. He’s trying, desperately, to pull off Dean’s pants, but the man is too heavy and the pressure on Castiel’s cock is all wrong.

“Please,” he begs, “please I need -” he breaks off because in that moment Dean grinds against him, bare cotton underwear against Castiel’s pants, and he moans and clenches his teeth. Dean breaks away from his neck and moves, just enough that Castiel can get a hand between them and shove his pants down. “Please,” he pleads, before Dean can forget him again.

Dean peels away slightly, mouth bloody and tongue swollen and red behind pinkish teeth. Dean dips his head.

“Fuck, Cas,” he breathes, not quite able to say he wishes he weren’t doing this, because _fuck_ it feels good.

“I don’t care,” says Castiel, because he doesn’t. Here, in a musty old barn with Dean not even human, it’s alright. The Impala is solid beneath him. His blood is rapidly turning sticky on his neck. He just wants. He doesn’t even know what he wants, he’s just so filled up with desire that the desire for anything in particular is gone.

He wants Dean.

He kisses his own blood of Dean’s mouth, and bites, almost as a joke, into Dean’s throat, sucking the skin and making Dean thrust against him.

“I’m so hungry.”

“I know,” says Castiel. “So am I.” Dean groans against him, and Castiel knows it’s for blood and not for him, but Dean’s cock is hard and pushing against his so he doesn’t care. They can give each other what they need. That’s what it should be. He laces his fingers through Dean’s - bloodied and sticky - and brings them both to his mouth so he can kiss Dean’s knuckles.

Dean stares, face clear and vulnerable. Castiel’s done something, that kiss has broken something between them, and Dean surges forwards. His teeth are gone and he’s all human, kissing Castiel with crimson lips. Their mouths are a mash of gasps, Castiel fumbling to make Dean touch him, but Dean’s forgotten again and his face has tipped towards the blood smeared over Castiel’s jaw. Castiel grabs him roughly by his ear. Dean growls, an animalistic sound that doesn’t send anything like fear shooting through Castiel.

“Dean,” he says fiercely, blue eyes staring into green. “You are feeling invincible, but I am an angel, and I can overpower you. If you do not fuck me, I will not feed you.”

He’s worried for just a moment that Dean will complain, like he does if the situation’s not exactly right. Castiel doesn’t get the human desire for setting the scene; kissing is kissing and fucking is fucking, and just because it’s against a wall in an alleyway doesn’t mean it’s not still love. But Dean is a vampire now, and he’s too far gone on the blood of his angel to care.

“Alright,” he mutters into a kiss. Dean shifts a little, lifting his hips, and Castiel drags his pants roughly down. Cock free and caught in the cold air, he hisses, and gets distracted by the blood caught in behind Castiel’s ear. Castiel moans into his neck as Dean’s lips curl around his lobe, sucking.

Desperately, Castiel tries to kick one leg free from his trousers and underwear together, shivering at the cold air on him. He’s too impatient for the rest; his clothes hang on one leg, pinned between him and the Impala. His neck feels sticky and stiff, and there is pain lancing through his body and curling in his groin.

He stretches out, fumbles desperately in his coat. Dean gasps at the cold lube and then the hand stroking it in long, quick jerks over his cock. Castiel’s the one who shifts, lifts one foot to brace himself up off the hood of the car. Then he drags at Dean’s hips, needy and digging his nails into soft flesh as he arches his back and angles himself. With a painful, overwhelming rush Dean shoves into him with a single motion, lifting his head a little to gasp into Castiel’s mouth and kiss him, barely, mouth open and breathing hard.

“I forgot,” says Dean, unable to finish the sentence.

In amongst the angel blood and the fire that is surging through him he forgot what it is like to be inside someone else. He pushes, needing more, needing but not reaching some great urge, and Castiel grinds against him, fingers hard over his hip bones. Dean’s not reaching it, he wants and he’s so close he can feel it like a red-hot vest beneath his skin. He gives a strangled moan into Castiel’s chest, thrusting hard. Distantly he acknowledges the smell of sweat, the cries of Castiel, slippery hands on the hood of his car, the feel of Castiel stretched tight around him.

Blood. He hears blood, and he feels desire course through every inch of him.

He bites down, and Castiel’s voice comes out in a choked whimper of a gasp. Dean digs in deep, less drinking as he is consuming, ravaging the veins. He slips, his hands sliding down the car and Castiel struggles, writhes against him. No noise comes out of the open mouth, and then Castiel presses up, shoulders flat on the car and shoes scrambling for a hold on the bumper. He gasps out through his mouth, drags a ragged breath in, the only sound he manages is a whine of urgency.

There is pain, and there is desire beyond the pain. He feels Dean as though he is touching every part of him, and he wants more.

Dean feels the angel filling his mouth, a sweet, all-consuming flavour that he has buried himself in completely. His hands feel empty, useless, and they grasp at the body beneath him, finding hair, then shoulder, the other grabbing hard at a slim, solid waist. He slides lower, grips the warm, hard flesh. He feels Castiel’s voicebox vibrate in an unsaid cry, and he swallows the noise with a mouthful of blood and he jerks his hand upwards in a familiar movement.

It’s too much, all too much angel, and he tears his mouth from neck and thrusts his hips once, a deep, satisfied groan to the motion.

“Cas,” he gasps, overwhelmed by what he’s seeing, and Castiel blinks up at him. He snakes his tongue over his lip where his own blood has splattered, and Dean leans down to kiss him, a momentary pause as they feel the soft, welcoming warmth of each others mouths, and then Castiel bucks unconsciously. He whines into Dean’s lips.

“Please,” he manages, almost. Feels it all through him. He’s so close to it, can feel it just out of his reach, a flicker of electricity he just has to reach out and grab - Dean runs his bloodied hand over Castiel’s cock, dragging his fingers up over the head and sliding a finger over the tip, and Castiel gives a scream and jerks upwards, pressing into it, coming over Dean’s hand and Dean’s shirt and his own belly, pushing back with his shoulders into the Impala and almost crying tears at the overwhelming everything of it. He scarcely notices Dean’s sharp grunting gasps, the sudden lethal grip holding his hips so that Dean can jerk roughly into him.

They curl up against each other, Dean leaning with one forearm on his Impala, scarcely thinking of how he’ll have to clean the damn thing. He hears Castiel take a ragged breath.

“You alright?” he asks. It’s hard to speak. His throat is thick and raw.

“In a few minutes, perhaps,” says Castiel in slow, hesitant words. His hand preemptively tightens around Dean’s shoulder. “No. Do not bother yourself. You have not done more harm to me than I have endured before.” He sighs, creases his brow, and laboriously turns his head to look at Dean. “I want to do that again. Next time you need to feed. You will feed from me. And no one except for me.”

Dean nods, not sure how to say everything in him. He feels wrung out. He wishes they weren’t on the car, so that he could pull himself against Castiel’s side and sleep. “Yes. I." He licks blood from his lips. "Yes, I would like that.”


End file.
